Circulari
by Cedrick Wallace
Summary: Currently on hold. Working on other projects. Will continue at a later time . . . hopefully.
1. Waiting

"How much longer you think we'll have to wait?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On the higher ups. They're not sure if they even want to do it."

"Why wouldn't they be sure?"

"Because none of the northern continents have ever bothered us. They don't know we exist. They think this entire continent is a nuclear wasteland." In the doorway of a darkened hangar staring out at the blazing sunset on the ocean horizon, a pilot inhaled a deep puff from his cigarette.

"Goes to show you how far ahead of them we are." Two other pilots sat with the first, one with a lieutenant colonel insignia identical to the first pilot's, the other with the five downward bars and star of a technical sergeant.

"Wouldn't one of the countries have at least sent someone to investigate? A drone?" asked the lesser soldier. The first pilot looked back at the tech sergeant, who was seated on an overturned oil barrel.

"It's not as simple as that. Nuclear fallout leaves radiation. Radiation kills people. Radiation blocks almost all transmission waves. Including the ones that their drones send." The tech sergeant then looked over at the second lieutenant colonel pilot, who was leaning against the doorway, arms folded across his chest.

"Pireau." The first pilot looked back at the tech sergeant.

"Hm?"

"What's with your friend?"

"What, Dalarus? He never talks much. But he does when he has too." replied Pireau, taking another puff from his cigarette.

"So how do you two communicate when you're up there?" asked the tech, nodding his head in the direction of the sky.

"It's like I said," replied Pireau. "He talks when he has too."

Taking one last puff from his cigarette, Pireau exhaled a large cloud of smoke before flicking the cigarette away from the hangar into the grass outside, turning from the sunset and strolling casually back into the hangar, hands stuffed inside of his flight suit pockets. The other two remained in the doorway for another few minutes before the young tech sergeant rose from his seat, picking up the overturned barrel and rolling it at an angle back into its position with the rest of the empty barrels next to the open doorway.

He gave Dalarus a quick pat on the shoulder in farewell before also walking back into the darkened hangar. By the time Dalarus had pushed away from the hangar doorway and strode back into the hangar, the sun had completely disappeared, replaced by the twinkling northern stars.

It was the next day. Pireau had stretched out on one of the grass sections of the airfield, gazing directly up into the skies as a 3 plane squadron of F-16 Fighting Falcons ran through training exercises. Barrel rolls, loops, and spiral drops left contrails spanning across the giant blue ceiling, the thunder of the engines fading in and out as they moved farther out over the ocean their air base bordered, then back in directly over the base.

Dalarus was there with him, sitting on top of an old ammunition crate he had dragged out from their barracks, binoculars pressed against his eyes as he followed the training exercises now taking place a mile or two out to sea. The young tech sergeant was with them as well, sitting cross-legged a few feet in front of the two pilots, staring out to sea to watch the planes while he disassembled and reassembled his Five-seveN Tactical pistol, without giving any thought to whether or not he was doing it right.

"It would have been cool to be a pilot." sighed the tech sergeant, shoving the slide of his pistol back into place as he finished reassembling it for what he thought was about the third time.

"You could have been. You must have like 20:15 vision if you can see those planes all the way out there."

"Yeah, well, college wasn't in the cards." They stopped talking for a moment as the planes moved back over the air base, the thunder rattling their ears as they practiced basic dog fighting maneuvers.

"Money?"

"Nah. Grades."

"Ah." The conversation paused again, their interest going more towards the 3 planes that were becoming more and more furious with each roll and dive. The tech had dropped his firing pin on the towel he was sitting on 3 times now, till he finally looked down to slide it into place and finish reassembling his pistol before he sat it to the side to continue watching the planes.

"I heard from that master sergeant running the ammo depot that we're supposed to be shipping out soon."

"Probably a load of bullshit. He might be right, but it's highly unlikely he heard something before we did." Pireau paused to readjust his hands behind his head.

"Do you even want to fight?" Pireau leaned his head up to look at the tech.

"It's like we don't even know each other, Tennir."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Independent Republic of Circulari, I am President Edward Delaney. Tonight, I have an important announcement to make to the entire country, but first, I have a couple of words of explanation. Throughout the 500 years the Independent Republic of Circulari has existed, we have kept our existence a secret. We have hidden our communications signals, masked our heat and electronic signatures, and kept all military movements and tests a secret from the northern eyes. We have observed as they wage wars against each other, detonating nuclear bombs on their own lands while murdering millions with super weapons of every kind. They find brief periods of peace, only to launch into another meaningless war within years. Their so called democracies no longer have any meaning. They have only military might, and warmongers to drive the war. And I look at ourselves, as a country on the whole, and I see what only few of their people desire. True peace. _We _fight no wars against ourselves. _We_ do not incase ourselves in ice tombs of nuclear radiation. _We _have never found a reason to fight. But I'm afraid that, now, we have found a reason to fight."

As Pireau, Dalarus, and Tennir, along with the rest of the air base crew huddled around the lone television in the recreation room, the president paused, wiping a wisp of his thin, wavy gray hair from in front of his eyes before he continued.

"One day, the countries to the north will destroy this planet with their barbaric antics. And in order to prevent the destruction of this planet, we must fight fire with fire. So, as of today, to each citizen of Circulari, I formally announce that the entire Circularian military forces will, in a joint strike, launch a full offensive against the Osean, Usean, and Verusian continents."


	2. Deployment

"Did you get your orders yet?" Pireau was propped atop one of the horizontal tailfins of his F-15C Eagle, sliding a plain white stencil around the area of his rudder fin as Tennir sat below. Dalarus sat just behind the cockpit on an identical F-15C next to Pireau's plane, looking down as a tech sergeant tightened and tweaked various things on his control panel. Pireau stopped moving the stencil for a moment to look down at Tennir.

"Not yet. We'll probably end up on one of the auxiliary carriers, hanging back off the Osean coast while the pilots on the main carriers do most of the fighting."

"But I thought you were good?" Pireau chuckled slightly.

"Answering that would only give me a big head. But I like to think I'm pretty good, and so is Dalarus. But it's a matter of where you come from. Ever heard of a town called Unger Ridge?"

"No."

"Exactly. That's my home town. Dalarus comes from this town called Firami, about 20 miles south of Unger Ridge. You go look at the profiles of those pilots stationed on the main carriers, you'll see the difference. The capital, Rinafon; all the major shipping ports, Ediral, Tulak; it's a system. Works the same all the time." In the silence, Pireau held the stencil back up to the wing, sliding it around till he found a spot he liked. Picking up a spray can from a small tray beside him on the tailfin, he began filling in one of the open sections on the stencil.

"That's not completely true." Both Pireau and Tennir looked up at Dalarus, who had now hopped from wing to wing over onto Pireau's plane. He trudged across the back of the plane, hands stuff into the pockets of his flight suit, before he stopped on Pireau's port wing, looking down at Tennir. "The squadron stationed on the C.A.C. _Thunder_, our flagship carrier; I did research. The flight lead comes from this town near the southern pole, Fenisk. It's literally buried under snow for half the year. His wingmen, the twins, both come from Illiad Bay; used to be a shipping port about 20 years ago."

"What happened to it now?"

"200 feet under the sea. The rest come from random small towns all over the continent." In the silence following, Pireau slowly, carefully finished spraying in the stencil, till 5 minutes later, when he removed the stencil to reveal the insignia he had chosen: a jeering jester mask, half black, half white, with double crossed swords placed behind it. A black circle with white highlights encircled the mask and the swords, with the squadron title printed in white within the circle boundaries.

"The 62nd Air Division, 14th Tactical Fighter Squadron; Joker." Looking up at Dalarus, Dalarus looked down at the insignia. His face was stoic for a moment, before he smirked lightly and nodded his approval.

It was the final weekend before the offensive. Most of the pilots and base personnel had left, spending these last couple of days saying goodbye to their loved ones. For the most part, the base was deserted, except for Pireau, Dalarus, Tennir, and a few other personnel who had nobody to say goodbye to.

Tennir, who was one of the personnel necessary to keep the base running, was leaving early Saturday morning when he spotted Pireau and Dalarus standing near the boundary fence of the base, both of them staring out at the highway in the distance where the distinct lights of military buses rushed by in either direction. Tennir walked up quietly and stood next to Pireau, who stood with his arms crossed, face stoic.

"No family to say goodbye too?" It was a few moments before Pireau replied, first with a slight shake of his head.

"Dad in a car accident when I was 17, mom a few years back; heart cancer." Tennir's face, though Pireau could not see it, showed silent comprehension.

"Does it hurt? Not having anyone?" Dalarus still said nothing, but Pireau turned quietly towards Tennir. His face showed no anger, only slight sadness.

"It used to. But now, I think it helps. There's no one left to let down. I no longer have to worry about somebody getting that letter of apology if I ever got shot down. No one left to mourn over me. So I have no connections. Nothing to lose."

Both men looked quietly down at the ground for a few moments, before they both looked up as the last bus honked its horn at Tennir, signaling they had to go. Tennir looked one last time at Pireau, and held out his hand. Pireau grasped it firmly.

"See you in a couple of days." Pireau nodded, and Tennir turned away from him, jogging lightly to the bus with his bag bouncing on his shoulder. Within a few seconds, the doors of the bus had closed, and it's engine grumbled as it rolled through the open gates of the airbase.

After the bus had disappeared into the blend of lights on the highway in the distance, Pireau walked back to the side of Dalarus, folding his arms back across his chest and replacing his look of slight sadness with a look of determination. "Only two more days."

_While the darkest nights surround me,_

_And my enemies try to down me,_

_They know they have no power over me;_

_Because I am already free._

Those words were painted in looping cursive just below Pireau's cockpit as he taxied his F-15C Eagle towards the end of the runway. The sunrise was a brilliant orange, and it cast a glare through the left side of his canopy as he lined up for takeoff. His black and white jester insignia glowed orange, and shadows were cast along the grass lining the runway.

Inside, he flipped various hydraulic switches, making his final pre-flight checks as the control tower began to burp through the COM speakers in his helmet.

"Joker 1, this is Tower Control. Confirm aircraft status, over."

"Roger, Tower Control. Aircraft status is completely in the green, I'm go for takeoff."

"Roger, Joker 1. Commence takeoff. Joker 2, line up and run final pre-flight checks."

Pireau smiled on the inside as he put pressure on the thrusters, slowly building up his speed as he raced down the runway. 100...200...once he hit 300 miles per hour, he pulled back on the control stick, and his plane lifted into the sky, the bluish black of the dawn sky coming into view as he steadily increased his altitude. Within a few minutes, Dalarus had done the same, barrel rolling into position beside Pireau's plane.

Looking off onto the horizon, both pilots could see the small dots of the rest of the air strike force flying off into the distance. "Joker Squadron, this is Tower Control. Come back alive."

"You can count on it." replied Pireau, putting on the afterburners and blazing off towards the rest of the strike force, Dalarus following suit and blazing towards the horizon right behind him.

They had been flying for two days straight. For the entire strike force, it had been a chain of mid-air refueling from one another, even the tanker planes having to refill as they made their massive journey to the northern continents. Pireau and Dalarus flew near the head of the strike force, flying at the smooth cruising speed of 400 miles per hour, their cockpits hidden under a gigantic shadow. That shadow came from the C.A.C._ Thunder_.

The Circularian Air Carrier Thunder was the newest machine in their air force, a gigantic, two-mile-wide, one-mile-long, boomerang shaped air carrier made of angelic white metal and powered by eight stolen R4900 Airstorm engines. After studying the wars of the northern continents, the Circularian Air Force had taken the design of the XB-0 Hresvelgr and expanded it to epic proportions. It had enough fuel in it to fly around the world without refueling; twice. And that was the fuel it had reserved for itself, not counting the fuel it had for refueling other craft.

Throughout the flight, the two pilots were forced into bored, impatient conversation.

"How long do you think we'll be gone?"

"No way to know. Depends on the military strength of the northern continents."

"I did some research. All our data says the countries up here have a lot of powerful squadrons."

"That's what I've heard. I guess that's why we'll have to rely on the 'top squads' to take care of them."

Even Pireau was slightly shocked when he noticed the bitterness that soaked Dalarus' voice. Looking ahead, Pireau observed as the 'top squads' of their strike force led the flight group towards their first target, the Osean continent, each of the three groups flying in close diamond formations.

On the left, Condor Squadron, flying YF-17 Cobras with a blue and white condor, wings spread, emblazoned on their tailfins. On the right, Valiant Squadron, flying F-16 Fighting Falcons with a golden rapier slashing through its lone tailfin. And finally, Saga Squadron, with a royal warrior holding a mighty axe to skies inscribed on the tailfins of all 8 MiG1.44, dark green and gold stripes running vertically along the entirety of each plane.

"Don't sound so bitter. We'll let the top brass know who's really the best squadron. Just take it easy." Before Dalarus could respond, a transmission came in from the _Thunder_.

"All C.A.F. squadrons, this is the C.A.C. _Thunder _AWACS. The coast of Aurelia has come within visual range. Arm all weaponry, and prepare for lightning deployment on our mark." Looking past the lead squadrons and off into the distance, Pireau saw as the thin green strip of land that was Aurelia came into view over the horizon, slowly but steadily getting bigger as they approached.

He fastened his oxygen mask to his helmet, and then quickly looked over at Dalarus' cockpit. Dalarus copied his action, then flashed Pireau a quick thumbs up, before both pilots accelerated, drawing closer to the front line of the strike force as the beginning of the war drew to within only a few minutes.


End file.
